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As the Dylan Thomas poem posted below speaks to the passing of men so to HIV surely goes fighting into the good night and history. Though some HIV positive folks who's identities are understandably inextricably connected to the virus may not be happy about it. Whether it is conscious or subconscious. It hurt's to say it or think it but it is true. This poem is dedicated to you.

We are at this moment in time experiencing the "cure". Now, as we bicker and argue and speak of when and how it will come about, the virus is naturally moving along into obscurity. HIV is weakening as it is more and more suppressed. Now by more than three, one a day regimes that are available at market. That will turn into an injection every three months. Then a vaccine every year and so on and so forth until ten, twenty, fifty years from now a young man or woman will show exposure to it and it will be no more than a blip. Like the flu, syphilis, VD and every other virus and std we have encountered through the ages.

The cure is happening now. It won't come as some big announcement or some holy grail. The impact of the virus will just simply fade out slowly and subtly as it naturally should and naturally is.

HIV will always be around. It will exist in some recess of a cell. In some DNA molecule. In some medical books and, in the memories of those still around to remember, but even that to shall pass into the good night.

No PSA or AD campaign will ever prevent two people from the longing of desire. From the connection that only real intimacy can give us. What we need to be human and to be whole. In some cases to procreate and in others to know love the way we were intended to know it. We deserve it with or without consequence. It is, finally, who we are.

So, au revoir, adieu and bonsoir, HIV. Please, go gently into that good night. You will not be missed. Certainly not missed by me.

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rage at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

"...health will finally be seen not as a blessing to be wished for, but as a human right to be fought for." Kofi Annan

Nymphomaniac: a woman as obsessed with sex as an average man. Mignon McLaughlin

HIV is certainly character-building. It's made me see all of the shallow things we cling to, like ego and vanity. Of course, I'd rather have a few more T-cells and a little less character. Randy Shilts